


Being Yandere is Hungry Work

by Stories_from_Unicron



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: M/M, Vore, Yandere, strickrot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 14:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20065636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_from_Unicron/pseuds/Stories_from_Unicron
Summary: Angor Rot's soul is gone.But there are other ways to ease that empty feeling inside.





	Being Yandere is Hungry Work

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to be the one to do this; but I have been searching for Trollhunters vore for OVER A YEAR. This was written at Two AM because NO ONE ELSE WOULD do it.   
This isn't my fault.   
I just wanted to read some Troll vore, but there wasn't any to be had! If YOU had written it first, then this would never have happened. I wouldn't have written it, and you wouldn't have to see Strickler get eaten by Angor Rot.
> 
> When will you learn. When will you learn. That your actions. Have consequences!!!!
> 
> That being said, it gives me great pleasure to announce that I am the FIRST WRITER to bring VORE to this glorious fandom.

** _ktsch_ **

  
** _ktsch_ **

  
** _ktsch_ **

  
The Assassin's blade rasped cheerfully against the cutting board; reducing the Cimmeran fruit to paper-thin slivers. Angor Rot licked the edge of his blade, then added the fruit to a bubbling orange mixture.

A wealth of seasonings lay piled to one side. Cardamom and cloves, saffron, white pepper, garam masala; spices from a homeland he couldn't quite recall. Into the pot they went; filling the room with a mouthwatering scent. 

His stomach growled, and Angor paused to place his hand over it. Tempting, to lift the iron pot to his lips; to taste the gravy before it had thickened. 

Ah, but to do such a thing would be a waste. Let the spices set, let the cream turn to butter, and the tomato to silk. Let the aroma grow stronger; and set the appetite to whet. 

He gave his stomach a pat; reassuring himself. 

Soon. The meal would be worth the wait.

Angor sighed, placing a hunk of paneer onto the cutting board. Turning his blade over, he carved a thin white slice from the wedge and lifted it to his lips.

He had spent hours curing the milk in a bowl of lime juice. It'd been years since he last took the time to make cheese. but his efforts weren't in vain. He closed his eyes, smiling slightly as the slice melted on his tongue.

Perfect.

Once the cheese went into the gravy; it would need to simmer for two minutes. Then the Sahi Paneer would be ready.

Well, aside from the main ingredient.

The assassin chuckled to himself, a raspy sound that held as much warmth as a cemetary.

He pushed the Paneer into the pot with the edge of his blade. then, crossing the room, he retrieved a jar from his bag.

A nervous pair of green eyes blinked at him from behind the glass.

"Can't we talk about this?" Strickler managed to sound calm, remarkably so, for someone who had been reduced to ten inches tall.

Angor's gave the jar a shake, knocking the changeling off his feet.

"When another Troll has been defeated, it is custom for a Hunter to devour his heart." The Assassin graveled, _"But you have none."_

Strickler pushed himself up; pressing his back against the glass as Angor reached for the lid.

"Have you gone mad!? The Furgolator will wear off!" He lifted his arms to shield his head, darting past a pair of ringed talons. "If you do this, you'll kill us both!"

  
Angor Rot's knuckles were too thick to fit past the rim, and he had no intention of chasing the changeling. He growled thoughtfully, then turned the jar over. Strickler let out a shrill yelp as he fell onto his palm.

There was a flash of green magic, and the changeling leaped from his hand. Angor let him get a few feet away before lashing out; catching him by one wing as easily as a snake snatches a bat from the air.

"Angor, please, I can help you!" Strickler squirmed as the Assassins fingers closed around him. "The Janus Order has resources, we can find a way to get your soul back!"

"My soul is gone." Angor Rot carried his prize over to the pot, using a wooden bowl to scoop up a helping of the paneer. "But there are many kinds of emptiness-"

He made his way back to the wooden table, setting the bowl down before settling onto a makeshift chair.

Angor brought Strickler close to his face; turning him over to examine as if he were an apple at a farmer's market.

"-and simple ways to fill them."

Strickler began to shake as Angor adjusted his grasp, tucking his thumb and forefinger beneath the changelings armpits. 

"This can't be happening." Strickler squirmed, twisting and clawing to try and break free. "This is a nightmare. A pixie vision."

The tip of Angor Rot's tongue slid out from between his teeth; arching up to glance along his lips. 

Strickler moaned softly, recoiling at the sight of the troll licking his lips.

His moan turned to a shriek as Angor picked up his knife.

"Oh, oh please---" He shrank back as the guillotine-sized edge came closer. "Please, don't---"

Angor's blade flashed.

In a single, precise stroke, he'd cut away the changeling's loincloth.

Strickler tensed as his clothing fell away, curling his wings to cover himself.

"Really, Angor?" His voice was shaking; mingled terror and disgust. _"Really?"_

The Assassin smiled wryly. Then, with a hum, he pushed Strickler into the bowl of gravy.

  
Strickler opened his mouth to scream; but before he could make a sound, his horns were forced beneath the surface. He began to thrash harder, his wings flaring and contracting as he struggled to free himself.

Angor pressed down more firmly.

The Assassin held him there for a long count of three. Then, when he was satisfied that the changeling was well seasoned, he pulled him back up. 

Strickler gasped, coughing and panting as he filled his burning lungs with air. The gravy wasn't hot enough to burn trollstone, but the spices stung the more sensitive parts of his anatomy.

Shaking, he wiped a gob of half-melted cheese from his face.

Angor Rot's tusks were the first thing he saw when his vision cleared.

"No, NO!" Strickler braced his foot against the Troll's tusk. His leg muscles quivered as he tried to push himself away.

"NO!" He managed one last howl of protest as Angor shoved him into his mouth. The teeth came together inches above his horns; setting into place like the bars of a cage.

The Assassin's tongue curled beneath him; an implacable force the size of a sleeping bag. Strickler tried to dig his claws into it; but the slimy muscle was too slick to pierce. The tip tucked against his chest and slowly; it began to push him back.

He tried to throw himself forward, reaching out to grab onto an incisor, or a canine;_ anything_. Anything to keep from moving toward the open grave at the back of Angor Rot's throat.

Angor considered the thrashing mass in his mouth. Absently, he prodded at it with his tongue; savoring the smoke-sweet tang of changeling marble. The troll assassin crammed Strickler into one cheek, holding him in place as he swallowed a throatful of Paneer-flavored gravy.

Angor opened his mouth, reaching in with two fingers to retrieve the changeling.

"Why?" Strickler croaked. His head hung low, wings dropping. "Why are you doing this? If you hate me so much then just kill me already." 

He set his forehead against Angor Rot's knuckle, too exhausted to fight.

"Just finish it."

Angor used his knife to spear a bit of paneer. He licked the blade clean before turning the changeling over in his hand.

"Do you remember what you said to me when we met in Aysa-Thoon?" The assassin asked.

"I said you'd killed thousands." Strickler didn't look up. "Angor, I swear to you, I would've kept my word. I'd have given you your soul back if you'd just killed the Trollhunter."

"I am no one's pawn." Angor settled back, closing his eyes. "You lifted the Inferna Copula, and you told me, 'You are Mine.'"

With dawning horror, Strickler listened as Angor continued, 

"The human hunter was only a child. but a changeling master? I had never hunted such game. I knew that your fate would lie in me, the way all hungry things know the prey they have marked. I considered letting you live."

His eyes flashed open, and Angor Rot's mouth twisted in a snarl as he leaned toward Strickler.

"But then you struck me. You called me_ Kutta._ A dog."

The changeling withered.

"I can make it right, Angor. I can be useful to you."

"I have already found a use for you."

  
Once more, Angor dipped Strickler into the bowl, but this time, he allowed his head to stay above the gravy. As soon as he was coated, the Assassin raised him to his lips.

"You will die, Strickler, but you will not end." There was almost something soft in Angor Rot's expression. "I will keep you with me always."

"Wait a minute---"

"Hamain aik saath hona chahiye tha." The assassin rumbled.

Then he opened his mouth.

Strickler stared wide-eyed into Angor's maw; watching as the dripping white fangs parted to welcome him. 

The assassin gripped him by his wings; so that he could see his feet vanishing down the Troll's gullet. 

"Let me GO!" Strickler turned his head, biting down on Angor's fingertip with all his might. 

Angor Rot laughed, then he did as he was told; releasing his former master.

Strickler tried to kick, but the pull of Angor's throat was like quicksand. In an instant, his calves were gone; then the coiling flesh closed around his knees.  
Angor Rot used his tongue to push him the rest of the way in.

Then he swallowed.

Strickler felt his stomach drop; the way it sometimes did on carnival rides. Insinctivly, he raised his arms to cover his head, shutting his eyes tightly. The silky muscles closed in on him like a straightjacket, but as he felt himself descending into the Angor, he also felt one final burst of defiance begin to rise.

  
Gritting his teeth, Strickler spread his wings and bent his legs at the knee; pressing outward with all his strength. The edges of his wings scraped at Angor's esophagus, his arms came down, his claws scrabbled for purchase;

and then the he stopped sliding.

_**"Hnnrk!"** _

In the back of his mind, Angor Rot knew he should've expected something like this; but the changeling's will to survive still caught him by surprise. The tickle in his craw was worse than a fishbone, and he barely managed to supress the urge to cough.

  
Instead, the Assassin drew in a deep breath through his nose; willing himself to relax. Reaching up, he brought his fingers to rest against the bulge in his throat. He started to stroke it; working his fingers until he began to swallow convulsively. Once. Twice. 

On the third gulp, the changeling fell.

Angor Rot began to smile as he felt Strickler pass into his stomach. The sensation wasn't unlike what he felt when he harvested Trollhunters. Souls were less substantial, but they were much more satisfying than flesh.

Angor leaned back in his seat, folding his hands over his belly. He could feel his former master raging against his fate. The faint, fluttering blows sent quivers of pleasure up and down his spine. He hoped the changeling would keep him company a while longer. There was something profoundly intimate in the covenant between hunter and prey.

Even moreso in those twinging, ticklish little struggles.

And it was rare, so very rare, that Angor Rot had a chance to hold someone close. 

A caustic gurgle rose from his middle, and Angor glanced down at himself. It seemed the Changeling's death would comer sooner than he'd planned.

He should have eaten the paneer first. Still, the Assassin wasn't one to regret. instead he closed his eyes; savoring the taste of changeling while it still lingered on his lips.

It didn't take long for Strickler to realize he couldn't hurt the Assassin. The rippling muscles of his stomach lining were too slippery to climb, and every time he tried; they'd clamp down around him. Strickler settled onto the soft floor, hugging his legs and resting his forehead to his knees. There was a shallow pool of acid at his feet, and it stung; but only as badly as slightly overheated bathwater. 

He'd run out of air long before he felt the pain of turning into chyme.

Absently, he summoned his magic; switching once more to human form. Perhaps if he were flesh, the ordeal would be over with more quickly. besides he didn't want to die naked and afraid---

naked.

_NAKED._

Strickler lifted his head; lips parting in disbelief. Carefully, he dragged himself into a standing position, and changed once more to Trollish self.

**Without** his wings. 

His loincloth was gone; perhaps forever. But his cloak came with his other form. so did his cowl; the feather blades settling into place on his shoulders.

Wordlessly, he pulled one of them free, gripping it tightly in one hand.

Then; with a determined expression, he turned once more to the walls of Angor Rot's stomach.


End file.
